


Afterbite

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Kindred: The Embraced, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-15
Updated: 2001-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Krycek just can't stay away from Mulder. Addiction, or obsession?





	Afterbite

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Afterbite by SugarRush

Disclaimers: Once again, not mine. Dammit!!  
Another XF/Kindred: The Embraced crossover, a sequel of sorts to SAFE HAVEN. More sex, less plot. Does that make me a slut?  
Rated NC-17 for vampiric sex and bloodplay. Kiddies, keep out!  
Summary: Krycek just can't stay away from Mulder. Addiction, or obsession? As with SAFE HAVEN, this story was originally published in the zine INDECENT EXPOSURE, from IIBNP Press. With thanks to Bernice for allowing me to post it on the net.  
Archiving: with permission only, please.  
Feedback may be sent to: 

* * *

Afterbite by SugarRush, 1/1

Every night, it happened.

Every night after the club closed I'd go out to hunt and feed, sometimes with Cash, sometimes alone. And every night I ended up walking to Mulder's apartment by myself -- walking there and standing under his living room window, looking up at the dim light shining through it, flickering shadows from the TV playing on the far wall. Every night I thought about going up, knocking on his door. I even toyed with the fantasy that maybe he wouldn't slam it in my face. And every night I didn't do it, couldn't bring myself to do it, couldn't bring myself to try slipping inside uninvited, taking what I needed from him while he slept. No way, never happen. Not again.

Now that I'd had time to think about it, I knew Cash was right. It was a bad idea. Maybe I could justify the risk to myself, but not to Cash and Lillie, not after everything they'd done for me. Didn't matter that everybody else's blood tasted like sewer water compared to Mulder's. Didn't matter that I dreamt about him every fucking night -- him and me, tangled together in those warm, soft sheets, skin to skin, groin to groin, mouth to throat -- and woke up spurting all over my belly like some goddamned horny kid. Didn't matter. I'd get over it in time.

Yeah, I figured another century or two'd probably do it.

Then again, I'd never been one to wait. The way I was going, I'd be lucky to live another year, let alone another hundred. Fuck the future. Mulder was here and now.

I crept up the stairs to the fourth floor and down the hallway, picking the lock on Mulder's apartment door, slipping soundlessly inside. He was lying on the couch snoring softly, mouth slightly open. He shifted a little when I knelt down beside the couch, but I stilled him with a touch, leaning close to his ear. I caught his plump, salty lobe between my teeth, shuddering. I'd gone too long without him; even this tiny taste had me too fucking close to losing it.

His right arm was hanging over the side of the couch, barely brushing my leg. I brought his wrist to my mouth, tracing the thick blue vein with my lips and tongue, teeth poised right there, savoring the anticipation, then sinking in. He tasted different this time, darker, richer, like bittersweet chocolate, and I sucked hard, drawing him deep, long, hot mouthfuls of him pouring into me, easing my hunger. I could've sworn he gasped at the exact same time I pulled away, giving his wrist a farewell lick, checking the pulse in his throat. It was more rapid now, threadier than normal. I'd taken more than last time, though I was sure I'd stopped before reaching the danger point. He looked a little paler too, but not enough to worry about. He'd be okay.

I bent down and kissed his mouth, nipping at his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth. God, he was a temptation, every millimeter of him a rainbow of flavor and texture, salt and sweet and pebbled and satin. All I wanted was to crawl onto that couch, wrap myself around him and stay forever, but I'd already stayed too long. Any second now he'd be waking--

Too late. He moved under me, stirring, giving me a weak little push with the wrist I'd just drunk from, eyelids fluttering, snapping open as he jerked back to consciousness with a sharp, pained gasp.

I didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't do anything. I couldn't. He was staring up at me, blinking, lips parted, working. "Y-You...it was you the other night, in that alley? It wasn't..." Licking his lips, he let out a long, hissing breath, eyes flickering with dulled-hazel recognition, suppressed memories kicking in with all the subtlety of a hammer smashing bone. "It wasn't a dream."

A statement, not a question. "No."

"Y-You bit me. You took my blood. You t-took it just now."

"Yeah," I breathed, grinning a little. I couldn't help it.

"Get the fuck away from me, you--" Another shove, this time barely enough to push himself upright, push me away. I fell back on instinct, back on my knees next to the couch. Every nerve in my body screamed for me to get up, get the fuck out of here, but I didn't. Mulder was sitting there on the couch glaring at me, limp, boneless-looking, breathing like he'd just run a marathon, pale and sweaty and shivering and looking like he was ready to puke up his guts. He wasn't in any condition to keep me from going, but I still didn't go. I couldn't leave him like this.

"C'mon," I said, leaning down, looping my right arm around him, somehow getting him into a standing position, then, hobbling like a pair of old geezers on crutches, got him into the bedroom, dumping him on the bed with a relieved grunt. He hadn't changed the sheets since we'd been rolling around in them together; I could still smell the faint tang of semen, his and mine, mingled in the blue cotton warmth. Jesus.

My cock leapt. My veins ached. So, naturally, the next thing I did was turn tail and head for the bathroom. There was a damp washrag sitting on the edge of the sink; I wetted it a little more with some warm water from the tap, wrung it out and brought it back to the bedroom, laying it on Mulder's forehead. I slid onto the edge of the bed and just sat there, watching him, listening to his sighs and moans, the soft rasp of his breathing. Just another couple minutes, just so I could be sure he was really okay. He'd fall asleep, and I'd slip out. Maybe if I was lucky, he wouldn't even remember I'd been here. Another couple minutes, and I'd go.

"So," he said groggily, opening one eye a sliver, "wh-what happened to you?"

For a second there I wasn't sure if he meant my arm, or...Christ, I had no idea what he meant. When did I ever? I shrugged.

"Y-You're not my first, y'know," he slurred, letting out this tiny, high-pitched, half-strangled sound. It took me a second before I realized it was a giggle. "N-Not my first v-vampire, unh-uh, not by a long shot..."

"I think this is my cue to leave," I muttered, starting to get up--

But his hand was on mine, fingers weakly encircling my wrist. I could have pulled away with no problem, made my escape, but I didn't. I sat back down on the bed, lifting the back of my hand to his cheek. He was warm to the touch now, flushed-looking, slightly feverish. I was almost tempted to call Scully.

Almost.

"I used to dream about her all the time...the other one, I mean, the vampire I met in LA right after Scully disappeared, after you..." Balancing wobbily on one elbow, he scooted up a little on his pillow. "I dreamed about her last night. I dreamed about her climbing on top of me, ripping my shirt, tearing open my throat. Only this time, she turned into you." The washcloth was sliding off his forehead, but he caught it, tossing it on the bedside table with a soggy plop. "You bit me." He sounded angry, accusing this time, all signs of his previous giddiness suddenly evaporated. "Whatsa matter, kissing me wasn't punishment enough, you had to use your teeth too?"

A chortle stuck in my throat. Typical Mulder -- no matter how weird-ass the revelation, he had it absorbed, analyzed, and spun into even weirder-ass fantasy fodder in an eyeblink. "You tasted so good, I couldn't resist coming back for more."

"You bit me in the dark, in that closet. And here too," he whispered, grabbing a handful of sheet. "Right *here,* the other night."

I nodded. No point denying it now. 

"You bit me, and you fucked me."

"I didn't fuck you. I stroked you off."

"You made me come when you bit me." A rose-colored tongue-point darted out, leaving his lips wet and glistening. I bit down hard, gritty iron blooming in my mouth. "I want you to do it again," he rasped. "And I want to be awake for it this time."

"*You* want--"

His hand flew up, cupping my cheek, the edge of his thumb lingering at my lips, slipping between them. My tongue swept the soft, fleshy pad, salty-sweet, rough-calloused at the very tip, and I was gone.

Sucking, I drew the whole thumb in, catching a piece of skin between my teeth, worrying at it until I drew blood -- just a little, the barest taste, just enough to make my stomach cramp and my cock squirm in my pants, screaming for mercy. Somewhere beyond the roaring in my ears I heard a soft, husky moan, but couldn't tell if it came from him or me.

Didn't matter. In the next second both of us were moaning and I was tumbling on top of him, my mouth hovering right over his, close enough to taste his breath. Close enough for him to lap gently at the corners of my mouth, licking up the last droplets of his own blood. Close enough for him to drag me down to be kissed.

One, two impatient stabs of his tongue and he was sliding between my lips, exploring, taking his time, flicking his tongue over mine, though I jerked away abruptly when he touched that small raw spot on the inside of my right cheek where I'd bitten myself earlier. His soft cry of protest mutated into something huskier, deeper as I dusted more kisses along his jaw, down his throat, sucking and licking, feeling the steady, quickening thrum of the artery right beneath my mouth.

I stopped, savoring the beat, the warmth and sweetness flowing under poised teeth. All it would take was one bite, one tiny little nip that I could wipe from his memory later. I'd taken his blood once tonight, yet I still wanted it, still craved it. Craved *him.* Just one taste, one more taste. What could it hurt?

"Do it."

His voice seeped through the thunder in my ears like water trickling through a sieve. Seeping into my brain took a little longer. "*What*?"

"Do it," he repeated. "You want to. I want you to."

But I didn't. I couldn't. Not from the throat. I'd stopped myself in time last time; now I couldn't make myself -- or him -- that guarantee. There were other ways, though, better, safer ways. He'd have what he wanted, and so would I.

Giving his throat one last, playful kiss, I moved off just long enough to wrestle him out of his sweat-dampened t-shirt, then slid down, dragging my mouth, wet and open, across his collarbone, down to the flat plane of his chest, finding a nipple, swirling it with my tongue, sucking it into my mouth. I wasn't sure if he even felt it when I bit him, but the quick buck and roll of his hips, grinding his crotch up into mine, told me he'd felt something. I was feeling something too -- something stiff as a steel club, straining against his zipper. Straining against *my* zipper. God. Hot copper burst onto my tongue as I licked the blood from his nipple, biting the inside of my cheek again, barely holding myself in check. I had to slow down, make *him* slow down, or this was going to end quicker than either of us wanted it to.

An insistent nudge, and I scooted down between his splayed legs, far enough that our cocks weren't touching, affording us both a little relief. Swiping lightly at his nipple to heal my tiny bite, I kissed and nipped all the way to his navel, dragging my incisors along his smooth, tanned skin, a fine red line welling in my wake. "Look," I murmured, and he did, gasping sharply, gaze flicking, locking on mine, gasp swelling into a full-throated moan as he watched me lave the fresh cut from bottom to top and back again. My lips were smeared with his blood by the time I was done, and I lifted my head so he could see it. He made a grab at me, hand snaking weakly, helplessly, trying to drag me back up for another kiss. But I ducked, sliding down, rimming his navel just long enough to make him writhe, fumbling at his fly, unzipping him, letting him spring free.

I think he was almost disappointed that I didn't bite him there, on the crown of his gorgeous, rosy cock, but that wasn't what I was looking for, not now, anyway. A couple rough, insistent tugs had his jeans halfway down his thighs, pinning him effectively, subduing him long enough for me to get my own zipper undone. I could almost swear I heard a pop when my cock poked free, pushing into the warm, bunched-up sheets. Enough relief for now.

I knew he was expecting me to clamp onto his cock immediately, so I didn't. His balls were another matter entirely, though, dusky and swollen, begging for my mouth. I took each one in turn, sucking and rolling, laving every millimeter of his scrotum, pulling back, blowing warm air on moist skin, grinning at his whimpery little jerks and jumps, head tossing on his pillow, hands twisting in the sheets. It was as close as he'd get to begging me for it.

He didn't need to ask twice. Way past the point of restraint, I let the tip of him slide between my lips and plunged, taking him as deep as I could, burying my nose in brown, crisp curls, grinding my own hips into the sheets. I thought he might try to grab hold of my head and take charge himself, but he didn't, he let me do it all, letting me suck him, work my tongue on him, wrapping it up and down the whole length of his cock until he couldn't help it anymore -- one thrust, two, and he was swelling, bursting, spurting hot and salty down my throat.

I took it all, every drop, then pulled off slowly, gently. There was a huge, rapidly-cooling wet spot in the sheets between my thighs; apparently I'd come without even realizing it. God, I hadn't done that since I was a kid.

Mulder had fallen still and silent, though the gentle tangle of his fingers in my hair told me he hadn't passed out. A tug, and I was moving upward, licking away the last droplets of blood from his belly as I went, rolling off to one side so as not to crush him. Our lips met, his parting under mine, warm, wet velvet sweeping inside my mouth, sucking my tongue like a smaller, more pliant cock, drinking the taste of himself, seed and blood mixed together.

"You gonna come back tomorrow night?" he whispered huskily.

Like he needed to ask? It was weird, too fucking weird and twisted and even a little sick, but since when had our relationship been anything else? I had to feed, and it might as well be from someone who knew what I was, and wanted me anyway.

The hunger was my addiction. Maybe this was his.

\-- END --


End file.
